


the art of a band-aid heart

by emptyswimmingpools



Series: poet and i didn't even know it [3]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Universe, Character Study, Drabble, Free Verse, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Adam, Poetry, hope u enjoy anyway, narrative poetry, this is more adam's past than pynch tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyswimmingpools/pseuds/emptyswimmingpools
Summary: We drive home; “I love you,” unsaid.





	

The day is bright. The road, clear.

I was born in a place where light  
often did not reach; I was swallowed  
by shadows and bruises and the  
span of my wings could not grow.  
I tried to fly when I was young and  
had too much hope in the world:  
at my wingspan’s depression, the  
sky did not love me; and in my lonely  
fall I wondered if I could break the  
ground’s anchors; if I could burn the  
tether that stilled my movements.

There was a line I drew in the mud with  
a stick that curves like the shape of  
a rib; one like how I - he - broke mine  
two months prior: a wound though  
perhaps unfresh, sought a sting at  
its memory. And then winter came;  
all the hurt beneath cotton on my skin,  
all the cold nights spent on the floor,  
all the happiness around me I never had -  
I remember everything; I tried to forget,  
but with constant reminders, the thorn  
in my side, it was undoable: I could  
not be rid of the biting truth, no, never.  
The word ‘help’ remained trapped  
inside my throat, graved on my lips,  
a shout I couldn’t utter to anyone  
but myself - pity made me sick; so  
anxiety made me fall silent, bar  
the whisperings I uttered at night:  
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

You’re sat next to me, eyes fixated as you  
let me drive your car. I tell you this story;  
teeth biting lips like a late protest  
of what he did to me all that time ago -  
your strange way of squeezing my hand  
in comfort like a normal couple might.

 I used to be bad at sewing, but I grew  
used to stitching myself together  
again whenever I fell apart. Seldom  
did I let tears stain my cheeks  
much longer; in the dead of night,  
I wished upon a star like it held all  
the hope in the universe. But it did not -  
illusions shattered coldly, bluntly, so I  
worked. I could’ve wrote a sonnet with a  
pen fashioned from the blood on my skin -  
a real killer fairytale, ready to poison the kids.  
I carried the weight of my troubles out  
to sea, hoping they’d turn into a boat,  
but they became my anchor; and he  
waited, watching as they started drowning  
me. I thought I knew how evil the world  
could be, yet I was foolish to’ve believed.

The sun starts to set. I park the car  
on the side of the road. You take  
my hand in yours and kiss me like  
there’s no tomorrow, like we’re invincible,  
like I’m worth more than just him.  
We drive home; “I love you,” unsaid.

_— M.C., “THE ART OF A BAND-AID HEART”_ _, OCT.2016_

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes, when you've got writer's block for your [main project](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8164807), you've just got to sit down and wing some fucking poetry, man. your rightfully scheduled kissing angst will continue its upload very soon -- i just want to get it perfect, you feel? love ya x


End file.
